


Jack of Hearts

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e07 Duck Tape + Jack, Found Family, Gen, George Eads Appreciation Week, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22880554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: Episode tag for Duct Tape + Jack; Mac worries about Jack after losing his dad's dog tags and functioning as a pump for the heart in the box. Jack makes sure Mac knows what's really important.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 84





	Jack of Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Happy George Eads Appreciation Week!

Mac keeps his eyes on Jack as he modifies the motorbike, creating an alternate power source. His movements hurried but steady. Wielding tools, his knife, a handful of paperclips, and spools of more duct tape like magic. Dr. Rosa, Hector Leon, and the stability of Ecuador depending on him at this moment. And most importantly, Jack. 

Jack's movements are slow. Cautious. 

It doesn’t look like Jack. Usually so strong. Determined. Defying the world as he defends it.

Even in the half-light of the generator, he’s pale. Eyes sunken and dark against a face that has lost all of its color.

Different than the way the color fled his face when they arrived at his home and saw that his sanctuary had been violated. His safe haven defiled.

He looks worn out. Exhausted. The light is fading in his eyes. 

The look of a man who has given, over and over again without recompense. The resignation on his face when he realized his dad’s dog tags were gone, probably never to be seen again. The one thing he can’t replace. He’s saved the world twice a week for decades, and the universe can’t let him have this one thing. Can’t let him have the security of his home. Took the one thing he truly prized, that helped keep him centered and focused. 

No wonder Jack looks drawn. 

Pained. 

Looks older than Mac has ever seen him look. 

This level of fatigue has nothing on the time Mac watched him push through the pain after taking a bullet to his thigh and showed up for an eleventh hour save, rescuing Mac from being hung by insurgents. Or hiking five klicks on a broken ankle. Or screaming in agony in Cairo. 

He was there when Mac woke up, a week after the events in Lake Como when it was clear that he hadn’t slept since he fished Mac out of the water. Living in rumpled clothes that dried on his body, drinking black hospital swill. Begging Mac to wake up and fearing that he never would. 

The haunted look in his eye didn’t leave the whole time Mac was in the hospital in Italy. There each time Mac woke. When he told Mac that he failed that team, and Nicki was dead, and Mac had nearly joined her. It was there when they drugged Mac and strapped him down for the medical transport home, when Mac begged them not to make him sleep. 

It wasn’t there when Mac woke up, groggy in the States and asking for Jack. That haunted look was replaced by the exhausted eyes and pale features that almost rival the look on his face now. 

Jack blames Mac for all his gray hair. For every wrinkle. Mac’s woken in ambulances and hospitals, in medical units across the globe with Jack sitting next to him and pointing out each gray hair, and informing him they’re all named Mac.

This time though, this exhausted, vulnerable looking Jack truly is Mac’s fault. 

Jack trusts him. Completely. Absolute faith in whatever Mac is doing, despite not always understanding it, despite his complaints and gripes. He’ll follow Mac until the end, follow him to the mouth of hell without a word of protest except to say he wishes Mac would stop going there so often. 

Mac’s never had anyone trust him like that. Back him up like that. Worry about him like that. Even after all these years, Mac doesn’t know what to do when Jack looks at him, eyes soft with concern. 

And he can’t help but feel he abused the power by asking Jack to do this. Asking him to make a sacrifice again. Save the world at personal expense. 

Jack leads with his heart. Doesn't think twice about what it might cost him.

His arm is wrapped around Jack’s shoulder, steadying him as he scrubs in. He can feel the tremors of exhaustion that Jack tries desperately to push aside so Mac doesn’t worry.

Guiding him into the surgical suite, Jack stumbles. 

“All good,” Jack’s voice is hoarse. 

Mac tightens his grip. 

“I’d make some pun about being the Jack of hearts, but I just can’t think of anything right now. Surprised we haven’t used that one yet,” Jack chuckles. His voice sounds worn out. Rode hard and put up wet, as he’s heard Jack say more than once. More tired than when he collapses on Mac’s couch to sleep off a bad mission. Or the really bad missions where he hijacks the other side of Mac’s bed because the nightmares are too close to be even a room away from each other. 

Jack with a heart literally in his hands, protecting it with his own body. His blood coursing through it. Keeping it alive. Saving the world, or at least this corner of it with a smile and witty one-liner. Or a bad pun. Mac wouldn’t expect anything less from his friend. 

“You should have hung onto it until you could think of a way to use it. I can’t believe you wasted that pun,” Mac snorts, shaking his head with a small smile. 

“Nah, I didn’t waste it.”

“You’ve already said it though. I’m not going to let you use it again once you do think of something better.”

“Don’t need to,” Jack whispers, glancing at Mac. “It did its job.” 

And it had. Loosening the vice that’s been tightening around Mac’s chest since he hardwired Jack in as the pump. Easing the worry of watching Jack slowing down.

Jack with Mac’s heart in his hands, metaphorically. Protecting it. Keeping it safe and knowing how to breathe life into it. Saving Mac with a smile and a witty one-liner. Or a bad pun. Knowing exactly what Mac needs to hear. 

Jack loves loudly. Unapologetically. Years of wetwork and black sites should make him dark and hard, and Jack can slip back into that persona for Mac if he needs to, but with Mac, Jack is soft. Gentle in a way that no one has been with him for years. Caring in a way that maybe no one ever was.

Mac helps Jack settle onto a cold metal table, and wishes he could find something warmer than the surgical drapes to cover him when Jack flinches and shivers at the contact. A pillow, a blanket, but sterility denies Mac from offering that comfort. 

Jack’s eyes slide shut with relief the moment he’s laying flat, and Mac’s heart stutters in his chest. He reaches out for Jack’s wrist, searching out his pulse when Jack’s fingers close around his. 

“I’m good, hoss,” Jack mumbles, eyes still closed. 

“You have to leave now, MacGyver,” the nurse says. “You shouldn’t have even been in here.”

Mac wavers. Of course, he knows, he understands the importance of keeping the OR sterile but he still wants to argue, to protest because Jack is the only reason they have a heart to complete this surgery and Jack might need him. 

Mac needs Jack.

“Hey,” Jack cracks an eyelid, looking up at his partner. “I am good, hoss. I ain’t even the one going under the knife this time. Gonna just have a little rest while they release me from this heart machine,” Jack pats the table beneath him. 

Mac wavers. 

Velcro crackles as the nurse wraps a blood pressure cuff around Jack’s bicep. His feet feeling like lead, he takes a few more steps towards the door and pauses again, watching the nurse complete an assessment on his partner. It’ll be hours before he can talk to Jack again. 

He checks on his motorbike generator, filling the tank with gas and gives a pep talk to an anxious Dr. Rosa. One that Jack would be proud of, and also call him a hypocrite. Because Mac is just as nervous, maybe more so than the surgeon. At least she has a job to focus on. There’s nothing Mac can do except stand at the window and keep an eye on Jack’s vital signs flashing on the monitor above his head. 

* * *

It’s just the two of them on the plane heading home. Riley staying behind, helping to coordinate the IT for the newly elected President Leon, keeping the news of his hospitalization and surgery suppressed in favor of airing his victory speech and footage of his rival being arrested. Cage monitoring security, Leon’s and Riley’s. 

Despite the privacy, Jack isn’t resting. Plagued with exhaustion but too hopped up on adrenaline.

He’s still pale, moving gingerly and Mac wishes he would let himself sleep.

Mac broke into the nutrition room in the surgical center. It was less B+E and more just ignoring the "employees only" sign, planning on pretending he didn’t speak a lick of Spanish if he was caught. But after commandeering the hospital and an operating room, ignoring a “do not enter” sign was pretty tame in comparison.

There wasn’t much in the small kitchenette, to Mac’s disappointment. Jello. A few cans of the juice Jack had been guzzling, with no nutritional value, pure sugar to combat the nothing by mouth inducing hypoglycemia of pre and post op patients. And peanut butter. Protein at least. 

“Peanut butter?” Jack complained as he dutifully scooped out spoonfuls of the nutty paste from the individual serving-sized packets. “No chocolate to go with it? Or even a banana?” 

“Sorry, you can't have chocolate,” Mac apologizes, and snatches the steaming white styrofoam cup from Jack’s hand, “and definitely no caffeine until after you’re seen at Phoenix Med.”

“Come on, dude, I’ve been pumpin’ two hearts all night long,” Jack thumped a hand against his chest. “I need a pick me up before we head home.”

“The last thing you need is your heart racing because you drank coffee. You need to rest."

“That ain’t fair.”

“Here, try this instead,” Mac said, handing him the spinach salad he stole from the staff lounge.

Jack wrinkled his nose. “This is a poor substitute for coffee, my man. I know foodstuff isn’t your thing, but even you should be able to tell the difference between the bean water and these leaves.”

“The spinach will start to get your iron levels up.”

“Don’t think finding me a salad is gonna get you out of buying that steak. I'm getting the biggest cut of meat we can find. Might have to bring our own cow." Jack spears a spinach leaf. "Did you steal some poor nurse’s lunch?”

Mac shrugged. “I left her some money.”

“Great, the first scandal of Leon’s presidency is that someone in his entourage was going around stealing nurses lunches. That’s gonna go over well in the news. I can see it now, Nurses Against Leon. Matty’s not gonna be happy when she has to send us back for peacekeeping and damage control.” 

“I’ll find out who’s lunch it was and apologize in person.”

“Make sure you stay out of hypodermic striking distance.” 

Mac shakes his head. Jack told Riley before they left to make sure she included a special segment in the evening news thanking the nurses for their backing and support to combat any damage Mac might have caused. 

A gentle shove from Mac had Jack tumbling onto the couch despite his protests, and Mac naively thought he’d won that round. But Jack bunched himself into the corner of the couch, sitting upright. Head lolling against the back. Bouncing and bobbing against his chest as the plane hits pockets of turbulence. 

His shoulders are tense, arms wrapped tightly against his chest, hands tucked into his arm pits. The blanket Mac had thrown around him to combat the chill of blood loss anemia pooled around his waist and draping along the floor. 

Stubborn refusal to get the rest Dr. Rosa prescribed and Dr. McClain emphatically agreed with when they checked in with Phoenix Med. Reluctant about letting his guard down, Mac can see Jack’s mind twisting and turning and wonders if this is what Jack means when he complains that Mac is thinking too loud. 

Jack probably thinks that seeing him sitting upright is easing Mac’s guilt and anxiety about making Jack function as a heart pump on the mission. It’s the only reason Mac can see for his refusal to stretch out. Putting Mac’s needs ahead of his own. As always.

The same thing Jack would call Mac out for doing if the situation was reversed. Hypocrite.

Jack would be familiar with Mac’s mounting frustration as he watches Jack’s head dip again before jerking upright. Jack would make sure Mac followed doctor’s orders to the letter. Mac wouldn’t dream of trying to get away with this half-hearted attempt at resting, not with his guard dog hovering over him. Fingers resting on his pulse.

It wouldn’t matter if Mac was having trouble shutting off his brain, filled with worried thoughts keeping him from sleep. Jack would be vigilant, get him reclining, helping him relax.

He knows exactly what Jack would do for him in this situation. 

Mac watches Jack shift uncomfortably in his seat. Wincing when he bumps the large hematoma on the inside of his arm and makes a decision. He stands from his seat across the aisle, moving quietly, and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. 

He isn’t exactly sure how Jack is going to respond to this turning of the tables. 

“C’mon big guy,” Mac’s hand brushes against his shoulder and Jack jumps. “It’s me,” Mac shushes, hand closing around his arm and pulling Jack towards him. “Come on, lay down.” 

“What’re ya doing, hoss?”

“Just lay down, get comfortable. You need some sleep.” Mac eases Jack’s head to rest in his lap. 

“No, I’m good,” Jack makes a lackluster attempt to pull away. Mac keeps a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him pressed against the couch. Brushes his other hand across the closely cropped hair on Jack's scalp.

“Let me do this for you,” Mac insists. “You’re always taking care of everybody else. You never think about yourself.”

“Well, now, that ain’t true,” Jack’s eyes are sliding closed as he relaxes. The motion of Mac's hands lulling him towards sleep. “I’m a pretty selfish guy, especially when it comes to things that are important to me.”

Mac frowns. “Your apartment was robbed. Your dad’s tags were stolen. You could have stayed home, taken care of the police reports, checked the pawnshops, but you didn’t even hesitate when the mission came up. Not even after losing something important to you.”

Jack gives a small shrug. “Losing the tags hurt, but I couldn’t risk losing something more important.” He cracks an eye open. “I’m talkin’ ‘bout you, hoss.” 

Mac smiles. “Yeah, I know, Jack.” 

Jack studies his face for a moment. “Yeah, maybe you do, but my pop always made sure I knew I was the most important thing in his life, even more than that ol’ ham radio of his. He set a good example, and I never doubted that for a minute. So I gotta make sure I'm reminding you of that too.”

* * *


End file.
